Summer Nights
by The BatThing
Summary: It's one of those summer nights of childhood, where it's bright outside and you don't want to sleep. Dick Grayson and Bruce Wayne talk it up and talk it out. Wrote this a long time ago, posted for fun enjoy.


**Authors Note: **Wrote this a long time ago, never posted. Here ya's go. Still working hard on all the others … take a breather with this fic. Hope everyone is having a good summer thus far.

"But of course he's had optimism! He has had _you_."

_Alfred_Nightwing #99

**Summer Nights**

**By: **The BatThing

"When you walk the streets you will have no cares if you walk the lines and not the …" Ten-year-old Dick Grayson paused, considering the song he had been singing almost unconsciously. It was a summer night, and Alfred had sent him to bed at _nine_. The sun could still be seen at a distance, its final rays settling down – reminding the gypsy boy that it was still as good as day.

You could thank day lights saving time and long summer days for that.

He was Robin, the Boy Wonder. He fought crime, fought bad guys – took down bad guys. Just because he wasn't out, helping Batman tonight didn't mean he should be treated like he was a kid … seriously. He flopped onto his stomach, kicking off the covers and feeling a bit too warm. His window was open, a fan was blowing, but none of it seemed to do much of any good.

"…If you walk the lines and not the squares. As you go through life, make this your goal – watch the donut, not the hole." It was a song he had learned a long time ago, his mother had always sang it to him when he was little. He didn't really realize he was singing it, it was simply the sound of someone talking (even if it was him) that kept him entertained.

He wasn't tired.

He wasn't.

Why didn't Bruce have a normal sleep pattern? If he did then this sort of thing _wouldn't_ happen. The Dark Knight had been out for the past few days trying to wrap up a murder case, and finally, today, he had tied up the loose ends and brought in the man responsible.

It was good and all, but apparently Bruce hadn't slept much during his little spree. So now, the Dark Knight was catching up on lost sleep time and Dick was stuck home at night rather then out there – fighting crime.

"I want chocolate milk, I want chocolate milk. Chocolate milk." Dick repeated, nodding his head from side to side and kicking his feet on the bed, creating an accompanying noise to his voice. "With chocolate syrup, a lot of syrup … My friend the little sparrow, flew close enough to see, written on the rainbow was this philosophy. When you go through life you will have no cares if you walk the lines and not the -."

A loud bang against the wall was _more_ than enough for Dick to sit up straight and look around, falling completely silent.

Oh. Apparently Bruce had heard him through the wall.

Oh.

Dick slowly lay back down, pulling the covers over his already warm body. He felt the urge to hide, because now there was a chance Bruce might complain to Alfred. The ten-year-old did his best to keep calm, and stay quiet, but it was _hard_. A few minutes dragged past, and Dick flipped through a book. He built a fort under his covers. He got out a flashlight and did a small puppet show against the wall. Time marched on, and soon the gypsy was doing summersaults off his bed and onto the floor, cupping his hands over his mouth as not to laugh loudly. He didn't want Bruce or Alfred to hear and tell him off. Nobody would want that.

"The Batman surveys the city from top of WayneCorp." He kneeled on the edge of his bed, looking down at the floor. In a flash his bedroom became Gotham City, and his bed a rooftop, positioned high above. "Below, Greg Rayz tries to make his escape."

His lips pulled up into a smile, and Dick performed yet another summersault off the bed, landing in a crouch on the carpeted floor. He went to his stomach and pulled himself under the bed, looking about rapidly. "The Batman ducks into the shadows, blendin', and becomin' invisible! But suddenly Greg Rayz attempts to make his get away!!"

Dick scrambled back into the open and ran to his window, looking out it and giving a small gasp. He shook his head, letting his raven hair flip about. "He got away. No doubt he'll bring reinforcements. I'll have to be _double _prepared." Then, as soon as he had imagined the bad guy away, he pretended him right back. The boy grinned, turning on his heels and drawing his fists. "Ah-ha! Thought you could fool _me_! Well, you were _wrong!_ Take _this_!"

Running towards his bed, Dick did a one-handed spring, and landed on top of the mattress with pose. He started to give a bow, when his bedroom door banged open and Bruce entered, looking irritated. The billionaire always looked funny when he woke up, funny – and about five years younger. His hair was ruffled, and his face with a morning shadow, not to mention his wardrobe of baggy and wrinkled clothes. "_What are you doing_?"

Dick slowly turned around to face his guardian, blue eyes wide with innocence. He gave no answer, but rather bowed his head to his chest, and locked his hands behind his back.

"People in this house _are_ trying to sleep." Bruce reminded, looking around the room, expecting to find somebody else there. He wouldn't be surprised if there had been another person – with all the noise Dick was managing to create. "I thought Alfred sent you to bed an hour ago?"

No answer other then silence.

"Dick?"

"Well, yeah … but I'm not tired. And look – the sun just set. The stars aren't even out yet. Not all of them." Dick reasoned, pointing towards the window. It wasn't a very reasonable argument, seeing as in Gotham it was close to impossible to see _any_ stars. "It's not even a school night, its summer break. I don't see _why_ I have to go to bed at nine."

"Because Alfred said so, now go to sleep and stop making all that noise." The unmasked Dark Knight barked, turning to leave. He paused, and turned back around, looked at Dick, and then left, closing the door securely.

Sighing, Dick fell backwards, collapsing on his bed once more, and this time a bit hotter then before. Running around his room didn't do much to cool things down. No, it didn't do much at all. He turned his head towards the blowing fan, letting the cool air hit his face, and gave another loud sigh. What was the point of summer if you couldn't even stay up late?

"Too hot!" Dick cried out, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He hopped down and dodged for the door, leaving the room as inaudibly as possible and sneaking on down the hall. If he could find Alfred, and tell of his woe, maybe the butler would put on the air conditioning? After all, Bruce _was _loaded. Why couldn't they have the air on in the summer? This was just ridiculous!

Taking the stairs four at a time, Dick came to the landing. "Alfred? Alfred? Alfred? Alfred? Alfred?" He walked around, going in the kitchen, in the dinning room, through the sitting room, past the study – but no Alfred to be seen. Where was that butler? "Fettuccini Alfredo? Alfred? Alfred? … Alfred-o-o?"

Dick hopped a bit as he came to the front door. There was a chance the butler was outside, doing … well, something. He swung the door open and sighed at the sight of an empty front lawn and drive. No Alfred. "Alfred, Alfred, Alfred." Dick tisked. "Muy dispinsado."

"What are you doing?!"

Dick whipped around, hand falling from the doorknob as he heard Bruce's resounding voice. What was _he_ doing down here? Whatever the reason, this wasn't good for Dick. "Lookin' for Alfred?"

"Alfred's asleep. I thought I told you to go to bed, Richard." Bruce wasn't glaring or yelling, in fact, he was talking in a very normal tone. Though, it was the principal – he was upset, Dick knew that much.

"I just was hot. I can't sleep when I'm hot. Why are you up? I thought you were tired."

"You woke me up, remember?"

Dick looked at his feet.

"Turn on your ceiling fan if you're hot."

"It is on, and my other fan. I'm _still_ hot. Can't we have the air on?"

Bruce nodded, shrugging his shoulders. "Sure. Right. Just go to bed, you shouldn't be up and down when Alfred tells you to _go to bed_."

A bit of a pause mixed with a nod of agreement. "Ok. Bu-but can I have some milk? I'm thirsty."

A look.

Dick held his ground.

"Fine. But make it fast. A glass, and go to bed." Bruce instructed, putting a hand to his forehead. He watched as Dick hurried to the kitchen and sighed. He wanted so desperately to sleep, why was it _he_ was the one up with Dick and _Alfred _was asleep? After all, it was _him_ who had been chasing Greg Rayz all across Gotham for the past few days. And it had been him who put the murderer behind bars. A few hours of sleep weren't _that _much to ask for. Really. It wasn't.

He followed Dick's trail into the kitchen and found the boy gulping down a cup of the brown, chocolate milk. A huge sigh of contentment from the tasty liquid and the boy began speaking once more. "Are you going to go out on patrol tomorrow night?"

"I don't know, Dick – probably." Bruce breathed, getting himself a glass of water and swaying a bit where he stood. He was _really _tired. "What were you doing in your room, making all that noise?"

"…I dunno. Just playing around I guess."

"It sounded like you were jumping off the bed again and again."

Dick blushed a bit and shrugged, smiling innocently but not fooling anyone. "When you caught Greg Rayz, was he hard to fight?"

Bruce made a face at the sudden question. He hadn't expected it. Giving his head a shake, the billionaire moved his hand back and forth against the clean counter top, staring into the reflection. "I didn't fight him, the police got him. I just helped."

"Buh-but you fought him for a little while, till Gordon and his guys came and he gave up. I bet he was going to give up anyhow, fighting _you_." Dick lifted the glass, taking a long series of gulps while keeping his eyes on Bruce.

Unsure of how to reply to that, Bruce just shrugged. It was a compliment, he knew it, but he had a feeling Dick didn't. Cocking his head a bit, he forced a strained smile. "Maybe."

Giving another gasp of air, after drinking so much, Dick nodded. "Was he easy to fight? Easier than usual?"

"…Dick …" Bruce closed his mouth and opened it, but said nothing for a few moments. He didn't want to ask why the ten-year-old was so curious. "He was a smart guy, knew what he was doing. It took me three days just to figure out who he was. I got lucky that I got a tip. His brains were more of a cause for worry then his strength. He was smart, so no; he wasn't 'easy' to 'fight'."

"You think it's better to be smart then strong?"

"Yes, I do."

"What if someone strong wants to hurt you, but you're weak and just smart? I mean, Kolbe Harrison, a kid from my class, is _really_ smart – the smartest, but he still gets beaten up. I don't think anyone thinks he'd be hard to fight." Dick finished his milk and ran a finger around the rim.

Not truly in the mood to explain, Bruce shrugged. "You're done with your milk. We had a deal – bed."

Putting his cup in the sink Dick walked towards his guardian, looking at the floor as he thought about what the billionaire had said. "I mean, if there was a _war_ or something, wouldn't you want you'n Superman to fight in it, and not just'a bunch'a smart guys?"

Ah-ha-ha. There it was. Bruce gave a sarcastic chuckle, an unhappy chuckle. "Superman and I aren't on the same level Dick. In fact, Superman is the perfect example of someone you _don't_ want to be like."

"Really?! Superman?!"

"Yes. _Really_. Superman is an example of someone who is only brute strength. He doesn't have to think, all he has to do is stand around. Somebody like him isn't the cause for _any_ respect." Ok, so maybe Bruce was a bit bitter when it came to the Man of Steel. And ok, maybe he didn't like the colorful hero any further then he could throw him.

"He has laser eyes. He can, uh, he can, uh, he can bend metal and stuff."

"You don't find that weird? To him that's like … breathing. He doesn't have to practice. Hell, all he has to do is stand there and shot lasers. It doesn't take any _real_ work."

Dick gave a smile at that and gave an excited jump. "So, you're better than him!"

Well. Bruce wouldn't go that far but … "Yes. Anyone is better than Superman. You and I are on a different level then "people" like Superman because we don't have superpowers. All we have is this." He pointed to his head.

"Superman has one too."

"…You sure about that?"

"You mean he _don't_ have a _brain_?" Dick stuck out his tongue. "_Cool_!"

"Ok, he _might_ have a brain, but he doesn't use it. _We_ have to. It's our superpower. That's why you should try your hardest at school. It's the most important thing you have, without it … well, you're as good as sunk."

Starting to climb the stairs Dick paused, and looked at Bruce. "Kids always talk about Superman and you at school. They say that you can fly, and you're bullet proof, they say that you _can't_ _die_." There was a pause. "They said that if you didn't have superpowers then you'd couldn't fight bad guys."

"_You_ couldn't." Bruce corrected the bad grammar. "You know that's not true."

"Well, _I_ know. They don't though. But Bruce?"

"What?"

"Well … I know that a brain's important an' all, but we're strong too. I mean, you're the strongest person in Gotham. Sooo, don't you need to be strong? Since Superman doesn't use his brain, but he's still alive – doesn't that mean being strong is a little good?" Dick took a seat on the stairs, cupping his chin in his hands. He looked confused and he didn't like not understanding. He _wanted_ to understand. After all, if being smart was so important, he _should_ understand what he was being told.

Bruce held back a sigh and nodded. "It's important, sure. You have to be strong, you have to be quick, you have to be agile – healthy, so on so forth – it's all important. I'm just saying being smart is the _most_ important."

"Why?"

This time Bruce did sigh. He _thought_ he has explained it all. "Because, how do you think we find all the people we track down? We don't just fly around the city with our fingers crossed, do we? I've _explained_ this to you before. It's the most important thing."

"We get clues."

"Yes."

"And the clues can lead us to the bad guy. Though, sometimes we don't get clues, Bruce."

Nodding, the man took Dick by the upper arm and heaved him to his feet, giving him a slight push back up the stairs. He was starting to fall asleep. Explaining things was all well and good, but he was pushing it now. "No, sometimes we don't."

Dick walked up silently about halfway and then asked another question. "You think tha'Superman is jealous'a you?"

"No."

"Well, why not?"

"Because, he's happy the way he is."

"Well, that's good." Dick answered. "I guess since he don't have to try at anything, he wouldn't know how to be jealous, right? 'Cept for our brains. HEY! Hey! Hey, hey, hey!"

"_What_?"

"He's an alien, riiight? What if he comes and _steals_ our brains." The gypsy boy gave a giggled, bright eyes turning up at Bruce.

"That's the problem. He is an alien, but he's something worse than that." Bruce explained as the came to Dick's bedroom. "He's a lap dog."

"A lap dog? Ah … umm, so he's a lap dog?"

Bruce pushed open the door and nodded, entering the room behind Dick. "He does what he's told to do by people in charge. It doesn't matter what it is, he does it."

Dick jumped on the bed and turned to face Bruce. "Isn't that good? Aren't you supposed to do what the people in charge tell you to do? When Alfred and you tell me to do something, I do."

"Uh-huh, just like tonight when Alfred told you to go to sleep? Or when I told you to go to bed? I liked how you obeyed orders _there_."

An innocent smile and shrug.

"Sure, it _is_ good. I'm not saying it's bad. But when I started in Gotham the whole city was corrupt. You can't always do what you're told. Sometimes you have to think for yourself."

"So Superman does bad stuff when he's told to?"

"…Well, no, I'm just saying he's a push over."

"Oh, I see." Dick didn't see. "Bruce, one day – do you think I'll get to meet Superman?"

At this Bruce grimaced inwardly. What a question! After all the bad things he had said, he still didn't manage to get the thought instilled in Dick's head that Superman was no good. Why was it that Dick wanted to see some_thing_ like Superman? "I dunno, why?"

Dick shrugged. "He's Superman, and you know him, right? I'm your partner, so one day you'll _have_ to introduce us."

"Maybe."

"Well why not?!"

"Because."

Dick pouted a bit, looking confused at the lack of reason involved with the rejection of his request. Nowhere near close to understanding the small amount of jealousy Bruce was dealing with. "_You've _worked with him before. What if one day you have to work with him again? Would you introduce us then?"

"You want to mean _him_? The – the brainless wonder?"

"Should I not want to?"

Bruce shrugged.

"Do you think he'd hate me?"

"No."

"You think he'd like me?!"

Bruce opted silence to be the best route this time. He took a step backwards, going for the door. The two had talked for a good long time, and he had answered more than just a few questions.

Dick watched him back up and returned to his sorrowful expression, sensing he was being left. "You don't think he'd like me?"

"Why _wouldn't_ he like you? He likes everyone."

"Does he like you?"

"…unfortunately."

"Is he your best friend?"

"No. I don't have friends."

Dick smiled and shook his head. "That's not true. _I'm_ your friend."

"Besides you. No friends other than you."

"Alfred?"

"You and Alfred. That's it. Good_night_, Dick."

Nodding a bit, the ten-year-old gypsy pulled the covers back and slid under them, still looking towards Bruce. "Nigh' Bruce." The light flickered off in the room, and Dick listened as his guardian walked on down the hall and into his own room. Turning on his side, Dick gave a sigh, thinking about what he had been told that night. It was a lot to take in. And so, pondering on the different matters, Dick Grayson fell into the awaited sleep.

**END**


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